


the world is no longer mysterious

by princesskay



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Episode Related, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22833814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: After the Berkowitz interview, Bill is certain that Holden is back to old self, but a botched hotel tryst reveals a lingering fragility he hadn't expected.
Relationships: Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Comments: 4
Kudos: 82





	the world is no longer mysterious

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Richard Siken's poem [Dirty Valentine.](https://crushedfingers.tumblr.com/post/27912896182/dirty-valentine-richard-siken//)

The gunmetal gray skies are spitting tiny droplets of rain as Bill and Holden leave Attica. Late afternoon sunlight struggles past the thick clouds, and glares off the puddles in the pitted asphalt. Holden welcomes the cool breath of spring air soothing the layer of sweat under his collar. Despite the success of the interview, his nerves are frayed, and his heartbeat echoes a swift, hollow drumbeat in his chest. 

He can feel Bill surreptitiously watching him as they cross the parking lot, the weight of his eyes landing heavily alongside the spatter of rain on Holden’s cheeks. A cigarette dangles from the corner of his mouth, half-forgotten, and not for the first time in the past few weeks, Holden feels uncomfortable beneath the scrutiny in his eyes. 

Once they reach the car, Holden slides into the passenger’s seat, and sinks down against the leather seat cover with a suppressed sigh. The bottle of Valium is in his pocket, safely tucked away for the entirety of the interview. Part of him is stubbornly proud that he wasn’t forced to use it while inside the prison while another smaller, whimpered voice in the back of his mind is begging him to take one now just to slake the jitter of spent adrenaline and the lingering hum of anxiety. 

Bill gets in and pulls the door shut behind him, jolting Holden from his thoughts. 

He rolls down the window, and takes one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it out onto the wet pavement. His breath clouds smoke into the air as he shifts his gaze to Holden. 

“I can’t believe that just happened.” He says, “Wendy isn’t going to be able to call this trip a waste of our time now.”

Holden musters a faint smile. 

Bill’s chuckle fades, and his eyes grow somber as their gazes hesitantly collide. Something ripples beneath the surface, a quiet suggestion and a question growing in the humming silence. 

Bill clears his throat. “Hey, what do you say we call the airport and push the flight out till tomorrow morning?”

“Why would we do that?” Holden asks, maintaining a level tone. 

Bill’s eyes narrow incrementally. 

Holden glances away, focusing on the lint lining the dashboard. His chest pounds almost until he can feel the individual bands of his ribs holding back the rush of ill-advised need and anxiety. He knows exactly what Bill means, and before Vacaville, he would have leapt on the chance. But everything is different even if these interviews feel the same, even if Bill can’t see him coming apart at the seams. 

“It was just a suggestion.” Bill says, finally. 

He shoves the key in the ignition, and gives it a hard twist. 

Holden closes his eyes as the car lurches into reverse, and Bill steers them away from Attica. 

Focusing on the green landscape stretching out beyond his window, Holden clasps his hands tightly in his lap. His palms are sweaty, and he thinks again about the Valium in his pocket. He cuts a brief glance from the corner of his eye at Bill, quickly dismissing the idea from his mind. 

After Holden extracted the truth from Berkowitz, Bill must think he’s fine, that he’s back the same as before. The equilibrium between them is just now starting to balance itself again, and the last thing Holden wants is to send it spiraling the way he did in the California mental hospital. 

“Okay.” Holden says aloud, the urge twisting free from his chest before he can consider the repercussions of this decision. 

“Okay?” Bill echoes, casting him a curious gaze. 

“Let’s get a hotel.” Holden says, “We can call Wendy and Gregg and tell them the interview went over.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Bill says, his mouth tipping in a relieved smile. 

His hand slips from the steering wheel and reaches across the space between them to rest against Holden’s knee. The sudden contact ripples through Holden’s body, drawing every muscle taut. He stares at Bill’s fingers - fingers which have touched him a thousand times, but not once in the last two and a half weeks, not since Vacaville. A little while ago he’d been desperate for that touch, the slightest scrap of attention paid to his willing body, but he’s shuddering now in a different way; and he can only hope that Bill is misconstruing it in the sensual, longing manner he’s accustomed to. 

Bill drives them into downtown and locates a hotel. While he goes into the office to secure a room, Holden stares at the drivel of rain creeping down the windshield. He slips his hand into his pocket to feel the plastic cylindrical shape of the pill bottle. The tablets rattle quietly against one another, a soothing reminder that they’re still there within reach should he need them. 

_ But he doesn’t need them.  _ Holden yanks his hand out of his pocket. 

Bill is exiting the hotel office, and striding towards the car.

Holden gathers his composure, forcing a smile to his mouth as Bill holds up the room key. 

Shoving the door open with his shoulder, Holden climbs out of the car into the mist of humid, spring rain. He lowers his head against the wet breeze as he follows Bill down the sidewalk to their room. 

Bill unlocks the door, and stands aside to motion Holden in ahead of him.

Holden wanders into the room, scanning the sparse yet clean furnishing. Two beds - always two to avoid suspicion - a nightstand between them, a desk shoved into the corner.

The thud of the door shutting behind Bill makes his nerves leap. 

Bill drops the room key on the dresser, and shrugs out of his coat. Holden sees the jacket crumple on the end of the bed, and closes his eyes as the big, warm grasp of Bill’s hands settle on his hips. The mist of rain clings to Bill’s skin as he nuzzles a delicate kiss against the back of Holden’s neck, inciting a wave of tingles down his spine. 

Holden bites at his lower lip, quelling a groan. He clutches his hands over Bill’s, steadying the touch in place over his hips as Bill draws him back into his chest. 

Need tangles with the lingering hum of panic until Holden can barely differentiate the two. He tries vaguely to focus on the twitch of arousal in his groin, but it’s so faint that he can hardly remember what it feels like beneath the fluttering stammer of his heartbeat. 

He pulls away suddenly, drawing in a sharp breath. 

“I’ll call the airport.” He says, shoving down the sense of panic. 

He turns slowly to see Bill gazing at him curiously. 

“You okay?” Bill asks, his brow knotting worriedly. 

“Yeah, fine.” Holden says, “But we should probably move the flight sooner rather than later.”

Bill hesitates for a long moment, his gaze picking apart Holden’s manufactured facade of calm. 

“Yeah, okay.” He says, finally. 

Holden swallows hard against the knot forming in the back of his throat. 

“I’m gonna get a shower.” Bill says, nodding towards the bathroom. 

“Okay.”

Holden sinks down onto the edge of the bed as Bill goes into the bathroom. The stiffness in his shoulders deflates the moment he’s alone, and he leans forward to scrub both hands over his face.

Telling himself to pull it together, he sucks in a deep breath, and grabs the telephone from the nightstand. He digs out the phonebook, and flips through it until he finds the number for the airport. 

It takes only a few minutes of negotiating to get the flight rearranged to the following morning. FBI business receives the highest respect and fast service. Part of him wishes the young lady would give him a hard time just so that he could tell Bill it was impossible to the move the flight; but in no time at all, they’re booked to leave at nine o’clock the next morning, and he has over twelve hours in this hotel to shed the lingering mantle of anxiety Attica had brought down on his shoulders. 

Holden hangs up with the airport, and strips down to his t-shirt and underwear. Pulling the Berkowitz dossier and notes out of his briefcase, he lays down on the bed on his stomach to sort through what they discussed. Bill had taken most of the notes while Holden pressed for details. Holden frowns as he deciphers Bill’s chicken scratch, frustrated by his own lack of dedication to documentation. 

_ At least they have the tape.  _ He thinks. But despite what might have been seen as a success, he isn’t entirely looking forward to listening to the tape, afraid of what anxious cues he might hear in his own voice and his rigidness in the beginning of the interview. 

Ten minutes later, Holden hears the water in the shower shut off. 

He props his forehead on his knuckles, and tells himself to breathe.  _ You can do this. You want this.  _

The bathroom door swings open, and Holden peeks over his shoulder as Bill shuffles across the carpet in his underwear. He quickly averts his gaze back to the notes, catching onto the first thing he sees. Bill had underlined:  _ doesn’t want his gun mistaken for his penis.  _

The bed dips and springs protest quietly as Bill sits down on the edge of the mattress beside him. 

“It’s interesting how adamant he was that his crimes weren’t sexually motivated.” Holden says. 

“Mhm.” Bill mutters. 

“He admitted to masturbating at home after visiting the crime scenes, but didn’t want his gun mistaken for his penis.”

Bill’s hand gently touches the back of Holden’s thigh. 

Holden closes his eyes, latching onto the faint spark of need that pairs with the tickle of Bill’s fingers riding up the back of his leg. He lifts his hips slightly as Bill’s hand traverses the swell of his asscheek, not grabbing on but feeling out the curve. 

“Well, this is all coming from the guy who claimed a dog was speaking to him.” Bill replies, his tone absent and bored with the conversation. 

Holden purses his lips over the whine climbing the back of his throat as Bill’s hand falls down into the dip of his spine, and his fingers creep under the hem of Holden’s t-shirt. 

“Still …” Holden whispers, his eyelids slipping shut over the image of Bill’s scrawled handwriting. “... his denial is fascinating.”

Bill’s hand crawls up the arch of Holden’s bare back, nudging the t-shirt up out of the way until it's bunched under his armpits. Curling his fingers around Holden’s nape, he leans down to press a warm, lingering kiss just underneath Holden’s earlobe. 

Holden tilts his head to accept the branding kiss, opening his mouth to utter a quiet, choked sound of need. The blood moving slowly through his veins takes on a new life, erupting into a steady thrum that gradually pools between his thighs. He presses his eyes shut, encouraging the need coursing to rusty, unused places, reawakened by Bill’s simmering touch. 

The bed shifts as Bill moves across the mattress, wedging his knees between Holden’s trembling thighs. His hand is firm on the back of Holden’s neck, keeping him in place while he slips his other hand between them to tug at the back of Holden’s briefs. 

Holden lifts his hips, allowing the fabric to come away. 

Bill’s mouth lays hot kisses down the side of Holden’s neck while he strips the underwear down around the tops of his thighs. 

Holden gasps quietly as cock slides free of the fabric, growing harder with every second that passes. 

“Oh, yes …” He mutters softly as Bill’s calloused palm lays claim to one bared ass cheek. 

Groaning into Holden’s neck, Bill kneads the skin in his grasp while his other hand slips out from beneath the t-shirt to palm Holden’s hip. 

Holden’s eyelids flutter open as Bill’s mouth leaves his neck, and he brusquely guides Holden’s hips up from the sheets. The Berkowitz notes blur into a jumble of scribbled letters alongside the photographs of blood-stained car seats and dead eyes, and the next sensation is Bill’s mouth on his skin, branding the top of his cleft before delving deeper. 

Holden grasps, his elbow slipping out from underneath of him as his hand shoots out to grab onto the headboard. In seconds, he’s facedown in the bedsheets, his backside raised to the hot gust of Bill’s breath heralding the stroke of his mouth. 

Holden’s body thunders, every inch of him reeling out of control. Sensation crashes across his unprepared senses, slick heat and velvet pressure, a practiced touch finding sensitive parts of him that he’s never allowed anyone else to violate. His body is beyond his reach, and he’s reacting before he can think, yearning for orgasm in the same moment he’s wanting to bolt up from the bed sheets; but his hips are lurching back against the steady pressure of his Bill’s mouth until he’s consumed and limp, open and willing, lying helplessly in Bill’s grasp, moaning choked half-sobs that are coming from some place deep in his chest where quieted, ignored anxiety has lain dormant until now. 

Holden’s eyes bolt open when Bill’s mouth suddenly leaves him. Suddenly, he’s flipped over onto his back, glossy crime scene photos sticking to his sweat-lined back. His slow, thudding limbs crawl up against the headboard as Bill prowls between his thighs, his mouth smeared wet with saliva. 

Holden clutches at Bill’s chest as the kiss comes down hard on his trembling mouth, and his own heady taste fills his mouth. Holden sucks in a hard breath through his nostrils, trying to fill his rasping lungs while Bill’s kiss all but smothers him. 

He thinks of tearing his mouth away.  _ Slow down. Slow down.  _

But Bill’s hands are already around his hips, dragging him away from the headboard and laying him out on his back. Holden’s shoulders hit the mattress with a jolt, and suddenly he can’t breathe. Bill’s weight is on top of him, between his legs, crushing his chest, and he can’t breathe, can’t fucking breathe. 

Holden thrusts both hands up against Bill’s chest, abruptly severing the kiss. 

“Stop!” He gasps out. 

Bill pulls back, his expression written with a mix of confusion. “Holden-”

“Get off, I can’t breathe!” Holden says, his voice scraped and wheezing with panic. 

Bill scrambles backwards, his mouth falling open in alarm as Holden drags himself upright, and falls off the edge of the bed in his rush to get to his discarded jacket. He can feel Bill’s gaze clinging to the back of his head as he grabs his jacket from the floor with trembling hands, and shoves his fingers into his pocket. 

“Are you okay?” Bill demands. 

Holden yanks the pill bottle free of the jacket, and twists the cap open. His hands are shaking and his fingers feel numb, but he manages to get the lid off. He taps two pills into his sweating palm, and shoves both into his mouth. The acrid, powdery taste coats his tongue like chalk as he chews on the Valium, swallowing it down as quickly as he can manage. 

He knows the pills don't work that quickly, but the revolting taste is comforting, a sign that the episode is close to being over. His breathing slows as he crouches on the floor, his palms pressed into the coarse carpet. 

Silence settles over the hotel room. Slowly, Holden becomes more aware of the faint patter of rain against the window rather than his own panicked wheezing. 

“Are you okay?” Bill repeats after a long minute. 

Holden closes his eyes, and nods his head. 

“What the fuck happened?” 

Holden leans back on his heels, and rubs a hand over his face. “I … I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Bill scoffs quietly, “You don’t know?” 

“This is my fault. I shouldn’t have agreed to this.” Holden says, casting a tentative glance over his shoulder at Bill. 

Bill is sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows braced on his knees. He massages the bridge of his nose, uttering a quiet sigh. “Did I do something?”

Holden swallows hard, his throat lumping with dread. “No, it wasn’t you, I just …”

“Wasn’t me?” Bill echoes, “Well that seems debatable considering-”

“I said it wasn’t you.” Holden says, gathering his trembling limbs up from the floor, “I should have realized after we left that prison that I wasn’t feeling …”

“Wasn’t feeling what?” Bill presses, rising from the edge of the mattress. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because, it’s fine. I’m fine.” Holden says, spreading his hands. “Look, I’m fine now.”

“You’re not fine.” Bill says, waving a hand at his face. “You should see yourself. You look sick.”

“Really?” Holden echoes, misplaced frustration climbing his chest. “ _ Now _ you’re worried, Bill? You didn’t seem too worried in California. I’m just pulling myself together like you told me to.”

Bill’s gaze cuts away toward the carpet. His jaw clenches as silence settles again, the seething accusation settling into the air between them. 

Holden swipes his underwear from the crumpled sheets, and shoves first one trembling leg and then the other into them. 

“I need some air.” He mutters. 

Bill doesn’t protest as Holden puts on his trousers and marches across the room to the door. Holden slips out onto the sidewalk where the second floor balcony shields him from the rain which has evolved to a downpour since their arrival. The clean, spring air is rife with the sweet scent of rain, and he inhales deeply until he feels his constricted lungs relax again. 

The steady drum of the rain against the asphalt competes against the dull roar of his thoughts, but he can still hear the quiet scream of shame. Since their return from Vacaville, he’s been trying his damndest to gather up the shattered pieces of his pride, to put himself back together and be the person everyone expects him to be. In their job, he can’t afford to be weak or anxious. He has to look into the minds of killers and not flinch; what good is he to Bill if he flinches? What good is he if they can’t even have sex without him panicking? 

Holden paces the cramped space in front of the hotel door for several minutes, letting the Valium do its work melting away the anxious clutch in his lungs but little else. He feels both spent and energized, wanting to crawl into bed and sleep for hours while also thinking of bolting into a run across the hotel parking lot and down the street. Maybe he could get all the way back to Virginia fueled by his embarrassment alone. Maybe he’d collapse before he reached the end of the street. 

Bill gives him fifteen minutes to calm down before he opens the door. 

Holden stops pacing to stare at the parking lot, avoiding Bill’s gaze as he slips out of the hotel. 

“Okay.” He says, wandering across the sidewalk to Holden’s side. “I get it.”

Holden peeks up at him as Bill pulls out a cigarette, and cradles his hand over the flame of his lighter. 

“Get what?” Holden whispers. 

“I was wrong.” Bill says, his mouth curling around the cigarette as smoke pours from the tip. “I was too hard on you in Vacaville.”

Holden glances away, his eyes stinging with sudden tears. 

“I hope that’s what you need to hear.” Bill says, “So, I’m going to stand here until you start talking to me.”

Holden clenches his jaw against the wave of emotion crushing his chest. He could say a hundred things at this moment - any of them relieved, frustrated, angry, or despairing - but not a single one surfaces with any kind of clarity. At least not with enough fortitude to form a complete sentence without him breaking down. 

He stares down at the sidewalk where the faint, wet line of rain creeps just past the overhang of the balcony. The ashes of Bill’s cigarette break free and twirl down into the moisture, absorbing into nothing one after the other. 

Holden tries to craft the mangled mess of emotions in his chest into something decipherable, but every thought that crosses his mind is tinged with defensive shame. Maybe if he opened his mouth, he would start screaming; and if he started, he might never be able to stop again. Maybe Bill would never look at him the same or touch him ever again. 

Finally, Bill smokes his cigarette down to a stub, and tosses it to the pavement. It rolls in a semi-circle before coming to rest against the warped corner of the cement slab of the sidewalk, still burning itself away. 

Bill exhales a cloud of smoke along with a heavy sigh. He pats Holden on the shoulder. 

“Come on, let’s go inside.”

Holden blinks hard against the sting of tears before lifting his gaze from the sidewalk. He’d expected frustration on the sharp lines of Bill’s face, but there’s no judgment in the soft blue of his eyes - just muted disappointment. 

Holden follows him inside. 

~

Holden goes to bed early that night, leaving Bill to aimlessly watch the television on low volume. He smokes a cigarette while the evening news predicts more rain and reports on the pile-up crash causing delays on the I-90. The muted whites and blues saturate the gray duvet tucked over Holden’s head in a neon glow that illuminates the lumps and curves of his huddled body in alternating flashes. 

Bill’s gaze keeps wandering from the television to Holden while worry festers in his chest. He’d brushed aside the severity of Holden’s condition up until this point, but he can see that had been a rash mistake. As much as it hurts his pride to admit it, Wendy had been right. Holden has been hiding an unraveled fragility behind layers of blase self-confidence, maintaining a facade of stability that Bill had been all too eager to buy into. He should have seen past it to the truth. He should have looked a little harder. 

Around 10:30, Bill turns off the television, and smokes another cigarette in the darkness. With exhaustion tugging at his limbs, he pulls the sheets over himself and closes his eyes against his racing thoughts. 

He’s not quite sure how long he’s been asleep for, but it only feels like seconds when a guttural moan jolts him awake. His mind stumbles from sleep, disoriented in the darkness and unfamiliar surroundings until yesterday’s events quickly fall into order in his memory. 

“Holden?” He mutters, staggering upright in the bed to squint through the shadows. 

He can hear the bed across the room creaking as Holden tosses and turns. The low moaning sound comes again, louder this time, distinctly frightened. 

Bill tosses the sheets back, and climbs to his feet. 

“Holden, are you okay?”

The moaning cuts off into a raspy, awakening inhale. Holden sits up slowly. 

Bill’s eyes adjust to the dark to make out Holden’s figure from among the shadows, hunched over with his head in his hands. 

Bill reaches for the lamp. 

“No, don’t turn on the light.” Holden says, a strand of panic running through the request.

Bill’s hand drops to his side. “Nightmare?”  
“Something like that.”

Bill squeezes his hands into fists at his sides. If he could reach inside of the dream and stop Kemper from ever laying a finger on Holden he would, but he can’t. He’s powerless now just as he was when he was standing over Holden’s hospital bed. Bill blinks into the darkness, realizing maybe that’s what had irked him the most. 

Holden sighs. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“It’s okay.” 

Holden sinks back against the pillows and draws the sheets up around his chin. 

Bill’s chest burns as he waits for Holden to say more, to confess more. Part of him wants to yell at Holden, shake him until the honesty comes free, but he’s already been too rough; maybe now what Holden needs is gentle handling, the kind Bill isn’t accustomed to administering. 

“You think you can go back to sleep?” Bill asks. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I could …”

“Could what?” 

Bill clears his throat. “I can sit with you a minute until-”

“I’m not a kid, Bill.” Holden says, defensively. “I’m fine.”

Bill clenches his jaw over a frustrated sigh. It’s the middle of the night, and he’s too tired for an argument. He crawls back into his own bed, putting his back to Holden and yanking the sheets firmly over his shoulder. 

They lay in silence for what feels like an hour, but a glance at the clock tells Bill it’s been less than ten minutes. His eyes are open and alert, any sense of sleep stripped away in favor of concern. His ears are straining for any sound of distress even as he tells himself to just fucking forget it because Holden obviously doesn’t want his attention right now. 

Holden’s bed springs squeak as he rolls over, and Bill can all but feel his eyes tracing burning lines into his back through the darkness. 

“Bill.” Holden whispers, his voice meek and trembling. 

Bill sighs, and rolls over. “What?” 

“I’m sorry. Can you …?” 

Bill grits his teeth. He would have very much liked to rescind his offer, but Holden is apologizing and pleading in the same whimpered tone that wraps itself unbearably around his chest. 

Throwing the sheets back, Bill climbs to his feet and crosses the room to Holden’s bed. 

Holden peers up at him through the darkness, the blue of his eyes faintly visible between the shadows, both of them wide and glistening. 

“Okay, move over.” Bill says, impatiently waving his hand. 

Holden lifts the sheets back, and scoots across the mattress to make room. 

Bill lays down beside him, and the sheets settle over them with a quiet rustle. The scarce light from the streetlamp outside peeks past the curtains, slashing a narrow strip of illumination across Holden’s face. Bill studies the trembling jut of his chin, the purse of his lips trying hard not to betray emotion. 

Bill rolls over onto his side, bringing Holden’s gaze from the ceiling to carefully meet Bill’s eyes. 

“Was it Kemper?” Bill asks, quietly. 

Holden inhales sharply, his shoulders going rigid around his ears. It’s answer enough.

Bill sighs, and slips his hand across the mattress to find Holden’s fingers tangled up anxiously in the sheets. He carefully pries Holden’s fingers open, and slips his own fingers between them. 

Holden grabs onto the touch, fingers wrapping over Bill’s knuckles with a trembling ferocity. 

“It was my fault.” Holden whispers, his voice breaking in the hushed silence of the room. 

“That’s not-”

“Please.” Holden says, scoffing quietly. “I know you agree with me.”

Bill tucks his cheek tighter against the pillow as his throat knots. 

Holden lifts his chin, and Bill can see his throat nudging against a difficult swallow, swollen with tears. 

“I flew out there. On purpose. I walked right into it." Holden continues, his voice dropping to a raspy whisper. “I … I let him get close to me. Touch me.”

Bill grips Holden’s hand tighter because it’s all he can do. Holden had never explained what exactly happened in Vacaville, and Bill hadn’t asked. Hadn’t really wanted to know up until this point; hearing it now feels like a faceful of acid, his skin burning with sick rage. 

“He touched you?”

“Hugged me.” Holden says, “His arms were around me. He was so big, he could have crushed me.”

“Christ.” Bill mutters. 

Holden draws in a hitched breath. “I’ve never felt that … out of control of my own body before.”

Bill tugs Holden’s hand closer to his chest, rubbing his thumb across the bony knob of his wrist. The soured encounter they’d had earlier comes into clear focus as he recalls his body on top of Holden, the exact moment when Holden had panicked. 

“He said he could do some interesting things to me before anyone showed up.” Holden says, “And he could have, Bill. I couldn’t have stopped him.” 

“I wish you had told me.” Bill says, “Maybe I could have-”

“Could have what?” Holden says, “Never touched me again? That isn’t what I want.” 

He twists his fingers free of Bill’s grasp and sits upright in the bed. Pale light from the window casts his horrified expression in jaundiced yellow. His mouth is quivering. 

“Do you think that’s what I want?” Holden presses. 

“I don’t know.” Bill says, “I don’t know what you want because you won’t talk to me, Holden.”

“I’m talking now.” 

“And saying what exactly?” Bill asks, his chest twisting with a pang of realization. “Me touching you reminds you of Kemper?” 

“No.” Holden says, pressing a hand to his forehead. “No, it just … it got all tangled up in my mind. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Bill reaches out to touch Holden’s wrist carefully. The skin on the inside where his pulse is surging is velvet soft, tender just like the rest of him. It comes together slowly in his mind, the connections and the panic. He’d seen enough of it in the Army, men who had gone in as the kindest, gentlest souls reacting like wild animals to the slightest provocation. Trauma changes people, even if that trauma looks nothing like a war. 

“What can I do?” He asks, quietly. 

Holden sniffs, softly. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t do anything before.” Bill says, “But I should’ve. So I’m asking you now, what can I do?” 

Holden sinks down against his chest, the sudden weight of him a great relief. Bill wraps his arms around Holden’s shoulders to draw him closer, and Holden shudders in the embrace. 

“I still want you to touch me.” Holden whispers, his voice muffled in Bill’s chest. “I need it … more than anything.”

Bill cradles the back of his head, gently guiding Holden’s chin up so that their eyes can meet. 

“Are you sure?” 

Holden nods. “Can you just go slow?”

“Slow. I can do that.” 

Holden leans in to kiss him suddenly, his mouth tumbling wet and sloppy across Bill’s. 

Bill clutches his nape to ease the pace, and Holden complies with a quiet whimper. He clutches Bill’s chest as Bill rolls up onto his elbow, laying Holden back against the pillows Cradling Holden’s cheek, Bill kisses him slowly, a gradual stroke of his mouth across Holden’s panting lips, the brief flick of his tongue tasting him. 

Holden’s breathing hitches as the kiss lingers on, simmering against his lower lip as Bill’s hand wanders down his chest and belly. His legs open eagerly beneath the sheets though Bill’s touch has yet to travel that low. 

Bill can see his cock tenting his briefs beneath the thin drape of the sheet. Relief hisses through his veins followed by the warm gush of need, but he maintains a slow pace as he reaches down to tug Holden’s t-shirt back from his waistband. 

Holden groans into his mouth as Bill traces the quivering plane of his belly, gradually nudging up against the waistband of his underwear before retreating again. The soft skin clenches beneath his touch, need flexing lower and lower until Holden is squirming impatiently. 

Their mouths break apart, and Holden pants desperately. He casts Bill a pleading gaze in the darkness, but his teeth are tucked over his lower lip, barring the choked moans. 

Bill lets his hand drift lower, over the pulsing bulge of Holden’s cock trapped beneath his briefs. He grazes his palm up and down the length, feeling Holden’s erection twitch through the cotton and into his hand. 

“Fuck.” Holden whispers, his hips curling up against the faint pressure. 

“Good?” Bill whispers, checking Holden’s blissful expression. 

Holden nods, biting desperately at his lip. 

Bill eases his stroking, and carefully hooks his fingers beneath the elastic waistband. 

Holden whimpers, lifting his hips pliantly from the sheets. 

Bill tugs the fabric away slowly, letting the front of the briefs catch on Holden’s cock before it springs free under the deliberate pressure. He drags the underwear all the way down Holden’s legs to his ankles where Holden kicks them away into the bunched sheets at the end of the bed. 

Planting a lingering kiss over Holden’s whimpering mouth, Bill grazes the backs of his fingers up Holden’s thigh, over the ridge of his hip bone, down into the warm juncture of hip and thigh. Holden’s cock is twitching hungrily against his belly by the time Bill’s slow, delicate touch reaches it. 

Holden tears his mouth away from Bill’s, drawing in a shuddering gasp. 

“Oh God-” Holden whimpers, urging his hips into Bill’s languishing caress. 

Bill grazes his fingertips up the shaft, finding the head leaking needy pre-cum. 

Holden moans, curling into Bill’s chest as every inch of him shivers with thrumming arousal. His mouth blasts hot breath against Bill’s neck, and his fist curls around the front of Bill’s shirt, tugging in wordless desperation. 

Bill’s hand leaves Holden’s cock entirely, earning him a groan of dismay. Bill grabs Holden’s wrist, and tugs his fist from around his shirt. 

“Open your hand.” He says. 

Holden lifts his head from Bill’s neck, gazing up at him with wide-eyed need and confusion. He opens his hand. 

Bill brings Holden’s palm to his mouth and spits into it. 

“What are you …?” Holden mumbles, his brow knitting with delirious desire. 

Bill guides Holden’s hand down around his cock, and wraps his fingers over Holden’s knuckles.

“C’mon.” Bill urges, softly, guiding Holden’s hand through a few slow strokes. “You’ve got this.”  
Holden closes his eyes, humming a pleased groan from the back of his throat. 

“Good.” Bill murmurs as Holden’s hand squeezes beneath his grip, complying with the steady stroking. “Faster or slower?”

“Mm, faster.” Holden whispers, his breath catching with a groan. 

Bill tightens his grip on Holden’s knuckles, shifting both of their hands into a faster rhythm. Though he’s only making indirect contact with Holden’s cock, he can feel the tremor rippling through him, the orgasm swelling in his belly and threatening to burst free with a few deliberate strokes. 

“Yes, yes.” Holden whispers, thrusting his hips into the rhythmic friction. 

His breath clouds against Bill’s neck, spilling husky whispers of pleasure and need into the skin. His head slowly drops lower and lower until it’s buried in Bill’s chest, his whole body shuddering inside the embrace. 

Bill’s palm drifts away from Holden’s knuckles as Holden’s fist drops to the root of his cock with a needy thrust. He wraps his hand around the shaft just above Holden’s grip so that both of their hands encompass Holden’s cock, stroking him all over, steady and deliberate. Holden’s hand staggers underneath Bill's as Bill’s thumb strokes over the head, smearing pre-cum across the slit and around the swollen rim. Bill can feel the jolt of arousal that runs through him, the next gush of wetness under his thumb. 

Holden whines into his chest, muttering a choked affirmation, “God … yes.” 

Bill presses a kiss to his temple as Holden shivers, slowly coming apart under the steady duress of both their hands. He comes with a quiet, choked gasp that tapers off into breathless, wordless pleasure. His mouth stretches open in a hollow cry as his cock lurches into their interlocked hands, release erupting in slick, hot bursts over their knuckles. Bill keeps the rhythm firm and steady even as Holden’s hand goes limp under his palm, too caught up in pleasure to focus on the pace. Eventually, his hand slips away entirely, leaving Bill stroking the softening flesh, milking every last shudder from him, squeezing weeping drops of release from deep inside. 

Holden whimpers as the spasms ease, and he’s left laying limply against Bill’s chest. 

Bill kisses the top of his head. “You good?”

“Yes.” Holden whispers, “Better now.”

They lay quietly in the embrace for a few long minutes, listening to the tick of rain against the window, the surge of the wind contained just outside the motel walls. 

Holden’s fingers are damp as they quest against the tented fabric of Bill’s boxers. His touch ignites an electric spark in Bill’s veins, bringing the slumbering arousal to aching need in a matter of seconds. 

He swallows back a groan as Holden’s fingers are quick to tuck themselves under the waistband of his underwear. Bill thinks momentarily of protesting, at least trying to be selfless and offering Holden an out if he’s not up to giving rather than receiving; but his touch is determined and quick, shoving aside Bill’s boxers to wrap his fingers, still wet his own release, around Bill's cock. 

“Fuck.” Bill whispers, his body leaning instinctively into the touch. 

Holden lifts his head from Bill’s chest to watch the pleasure twist his face, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

Bill casts him a sharp glance through half-lidded eyes. “You can’t return a favor, can you?”

Holden’s hand works him quickly. “What’s that?”

“Going slow?” Bill grunts, a groan interrupting the words. 

Holden chuckles softly, but doesn’t ease his pace. 

Bill closes his eyes, letting his complaints melt away into pleasure. The pride only goes skin deep, and a part of him enjoys the way that Holden can coax pleasure from him so quickly. A part of him longs for it. For a few moments, it feels like Vacaville was some bad dream, like Kemper hadn’t spoiled some part of them, like Holden is going to be undamaged from all that’s happened. It’s something they can both believe in until the light comes through the window. 

  
  
  


~the end~

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm [prinxcesskayy](https://prinxcesskayy.tumblr.com//) on Tumblr!


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